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SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
THE KNIGHT'S TOMB.
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
and the birch in its stead is grown.
Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause,
Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll,
Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined , Save when your own imperious branches swinging,
Have made a solemn music of the wind !
How oft pursuing fancies holy,
Inspired, beyond the guess of folly,
And 0 ye Clouds that far above me soar'd!
Yea, every thing that is and will be free!
Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be,
The spirit of divinest Liberty.
When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreard,
And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea,
Stamp'd her strong foot and said she would be free,
Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band:
The Monarchs march'd in evil day,
And Britain join'd the dire array;
Had swoln the patriot emotion,
To all that braved the tyant-quelling lance,
But bless'd the pæans of deliver'd France,
"And what," I said, "though Blasphemy's loud scream With that sweet music of deliverance strove?
Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove HOEKZEMA, Poetry. 4th Ed.
A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream?
Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!"
And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled, The dissonance ceased , and all seem'd calm and bright,
When France her front, deep-scarr'd and gory,
When, insupportably advancing,
While, timid looks of fury glancing,
Then I reproach'd my fears that would not flee;
Shall France compel the nations to be free,
Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams!
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,
From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sent
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perish'd ,
With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherish'd
To scatter rage and traitorous guilt,
A patriot-race to disinherit
And with inexpiable spirit
And patriot only in pernicious toils,
Are these thy boasts, champion of human kind ?
To mix with kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils
From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray?
The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain,
Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game
They burst their manacles and wear the name Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
O Liberty! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour;
But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
Alike from Priestcraft's barpy minions,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves ! And there I felt thee! on that sea-cliff's verge,
Whose pines, scarce travell’d by the breeze above, Had made one murmur with the distant surge!
Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,
Possessing all things with intensest love,
FROST AT MIDNIGHT.
The frost performs its secret ministry,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
But O! how oft, How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, To watch that futtering stranger! and as oft, With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower, Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, So sweetly, that they stirr'd and haunted me With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear Most like articulate sounds of things to come! So gazed I, till the soothing things I dreamt Lull’d me to sleep, and sleep prolong'd my dreams! And so I brooded all the following morn, Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye Fix'd with mock study on my swimming book Save if the door half open'd, and I snatch'd